


To Kill a Mockingbird

by Sam_Nook



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gluttony, Lessons, Lust, Morals, More tags to be added, Multi, Pride, america is the god of pride, china is the god of gluttony, deadly sins au but with a twist, england is the god of wrath, envy - Freeform, france is the god of greed, god AU, greed - Freeform, he's also kind of a jerk rip, hetalia AU, mapletea, matthew is the god of envy, n. italy is the god of sloth, nefasverse, road silk pair, rome is god of lust, romechu, sloth - Freeform, sort of one sided love tho, wrath - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Nook/pseuds/Sam_Nook
Summary: "I am nothing like you now. I was, but I fell, I became a man like you. I started from nothing and led the armies of Osmea to victory. I earned my pride, and only then did the GodMother bring me back." Alfred lifted his gaze and picked up his wineglass. "It's unfortunate that you will never have the same chance."
Relationships: Canada/England (Hetalia), China/Rome (Hetalia)
Kudos: 26





	1. Fastus

Alfred stared at the scarlet liquid in his wineglass as he carefully sloshed it around, careful to keep the liquid from dripping out and staining his crisp white uniform. His gaze drifted from the drink, he'd graciously received from one of the servants, and towards the lake in the distance. With a hum to show that he at least acknowledged the human droning on, he studied the birds that strolled along the stretch of grass that led to the large lake. Even from a distance, Alfred could recognize the thousand-eyed bird. 

"Peacocks," Alfred stated with appreciation, probably the first time speaking to the man. The man, some old balding general that Alfred could care less about, stared before nodding eagerly. 

"Oh yes, peacocks," the man sweated in his uniform as he beamed up at Alfred, "they're your animal, right?"

Alfred snorted into his wine. "Oh yeah, they're prideful little things. Definitely one of mine." 

"They are beautiful." The man murmured in attempted to please Alfred. Alfred nodded and turned his attention back to the general. The old man wore a crisp uniform, much like the one Alfred wore. Glittering medals and badges adorned the sleeves and pockets of the green suit, and Alfred could tell his career matched the man's ego, big and built with gold. All of this, the peacocks, wine, and fancy gardens, was unnecessary. It wasn't like he was going to help the man, whatever happened to him; he had it coming. 

As a God, which was a title Alfred particularly enjoyed having, meant he had specific jobs to fulfill. He blessed those who asked for it, showed up at his temple occasionally, and grinned for the priests, and when summoned, he listened and helped whoever called for him. At least, that was what he was supposed to do. Alfred, unfortunately for any praying mortal, wasn't all that interested in mortal affairs. It was beneath him. If you happened to give him a good offering, he showed himself, but it didn't guarantee he would listen. Mostly, he drank the offered wine and tried not to fall asleep before leaving with some thrown together proverbial words that were probably written on a fortune cookie. 

"What do you think, Fastus?" Alfred's godly title rolled off the man's tongue sweetly, another attempt at coaxing the god to play into his hands. Of course, Alfred was too smart to play into that. Sometimes mortals forgot their place, especially ones with their wealth on their sleeves, and being a god, well, it was up to him to remind mortals that they were not gods themselves. 

Alfred set the wineglass down and licked his lips; he eyed the man and turned his attention back on the peacocks in the distance. "What I think is that you've wasted my time." 

The man's smile soured, and he tensed his seat. Sweat matted his greying hair to his forehead as he paled. Summoning a god also meant risking the consequences, all mortals knew that, and Alfred was no God of Wrath. Still, he had his own streak of anger, especially when someone challenged his pride. And this man had mocked his pride as soon as Alfred had appeared. He had underestimated Alfred, and he would pay. 

Alfred was slow as he stood, his fingers flexing as he stepped towards the man. His expression was neutral, lips twitching to curl into a proud smile as he stopped in front of him. 

"What I think is that you need to learn a lesson," one gloved hand reached out and grabbed the man's shirt tightly, "and lucky for you, I'm great at teaching." 

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the world around them was grey and distorted. The lush gardens around them were grey and wilted, the lake foggy and the grass around them dead. Alfred let the man fall to the mud below them, grimacing with disgust as mud splashed around the hem of his uniform. How disgusting. 

Alfred crouched next to him, his expression grim. "For a general, you're very foolish. An esteemed leader knows when to keep his pride in check, you flaunt it as if it is something you deserve." 

He yanked one of the dull gold medals off of the man's chest and held it up. "The thing is you don't deserve it." He held it out and watched as it slowly crumbled to ash, "true pride comes not from what you own but what you have done, and you have done nothing."

Alfred let the ash fall between his fingers as he stood. He surveyed the scene and glared down at the man. "If I wanted, I could take this all away from you, make you stay in this world of grey foggy nothing, but a good leader is merciful. If you have learned your lesson, general, I will return this to normal. You earn your pride; you don't deserve it until you have proven your worth." 

The man spat in his direction, "don't at like you're better than me Fastus. You are just like me, full of gold and pride. You hide it well. You should learn your own lesson." He leered.

"I am nothing like you now. I was, but I fell, I became a man like you. I started from nothing and led the armies of Osmea to victory. I earned my pride, and only then did the GodMother bring me back." Alfred lifted his gaze and picked up his wineglass. "It's unfortunate that you will never have the same chance." 

Pride was a two-edged sword; it was good until you had too much. Men like the general would be wise to learn it, but as humans always were, they did not. They were foolish and even faced with the power of a god; they dared to defy it. It was why he never truly wanted to help mortals. They controlled their worlds as if they were gods and wanted more. Their worst qualities kept them from finding true happiness in what they had. They were weak, and for that, Alfred was glad he had learned his lesson already.


	2. Invidia

Matthew had never been satisfied with who he was, which was expected as the God of Envy. He had always been uncomfortable with who he was, how he looked, and how much he wanted to change. There were days when Matthew would follow Alfred, always in his shadow, and wish he was like his brother. Alfred had confidence, an aura of life, and he inspired those around him. All Matthew had was the desire to be him, to have what Alfred had. Pride was much better than envy, right? 

He became obsessive about trying to be like Alfred; Alfred's successes became his own, and Alfred's failures became his steps over Alfred. 

As the centuries passed, it became less about being like Alfred but making Alfred like him. If Matthew couldn't have it, neither should Alfred. If Alfred were like him, he wouldn't be envious. Take away what Alfred had, and Matthew couldn't wish for it. They would be equal. And so Matthew began his plan.

It was simple. Slowly and carefully, he didn't want to risk Alfred's anger; after all, Matthew began to cut away at the relationships around Alfred. Take away those Alfred trusted meant Alfred would come to him, and when Matthew was all he had left to turn to, Matthew would fill him with lies, compliments filled with venom, and watch as pride fell to envy. When Alfred fell, Matthew would be there to snatch what was left away from him. 

Pride filled the soul, but envy would eat it away.

"Matthew, Invidia, I don't know what I did." Alfred lounged on one of the green chaise lounges that adorned Matthew's living room. "I mean, it's like they all just suddenly decided not to be my friends. Like an unspoken agreement, like they all met up and made a secret 'I hate pride club.' I know I'm prideful, but we all have issues, right? I mean, if they're friends with Arthur, they can totally stand me!"

Matthew handed him a cup of hot chocolate with a pitying smile. Oh, Alfred had no clue. For now, Matthew would comfort his brother. It was the least he could do before he tore away everything that made him the God of Pride, Fastus. With Fastus on his knees, Invidia could finally be happy. Envy couldn't exist if there were nothing to be envious of, right?

"Alfred, I'm sure they're just going through something. Don't worry; you have me." Matthew managed a soft smile and settled on the velvet couch nearby. "I would never abandon you like that. You're my brother, and we stick together, right."

Alfred's smile was sincere as he beamed up at Matthew from the armrest. "Right. See, this is why I like you. You're the normal one. You make this chaos bearable, and you've always been at my side."

"It's what I do, Alfred. It's what I've always done."

**~~**

Oh, the victory was bittersweet.

Matthew's boots clicked on the stone as he circled Alfred. Alfred was on his knees, his hands in fists but unable to make a move as Matthew grinned above him. He was kneeling, his uniform torn and tattered, and the gold that had decorated it was flung around the room, dull and lifeless. A golden dagger in Alfred's back kept him from moving despite the defiance and anger in his eyes. 

"How does it feel, Fastus, to be back on your knees, fallen? Pride before the fall seems more of a prophecy than a phrase. " Matthew's violet eyes hardened, and he glared down at his brother. "Your pride shattered into pieces around you and with nothing left that makes you something special. You are nothing now." 

Alfred managed a weak laugh, blue eyes blazing as he pushed himself up. "If you think you've won in all of this, you're wrong. Karma's going to bite you in the ass, Invidia, and I can't wait to see it make you crumble. You have no idea what you're messing with." 

Alfred jerked as Matthew's hand slapped across his cheek, leaving a red print. He stumbled back onto his knees, and Matthew leaned over him again. "Don't speak to me like that, I've had enough of being in your shadow. I'm finally done being envious of you." 

Matthew leaned over and unclipped Alfred's peacock cloak and fastened it around his neck. "I'm finally proud of myself. I've freed myself from the chains of envy, and now it's your turn to know how I felt, dear Fastus ." 

"You know, green really does look good on you." Alfred spat out as Matthew slammed the iron door closed behind him, leaving Alfred alone in the dimly lit cell with his thoughts and, quite literally, ruined pride. 

The cloak, pride, and his spot on top was rightfully his. He had waited patiently with the cards dealt to him, and when the moment was ready, he had taken his chance. Envy may have been a sin to the world, but it was the perfect motivator because now he had what he wanted. He was free from jealousy; he was pride. 

"Fastus." Matthew whispered to himself, "it really does have a nice ring to it."

**~~**

Matthew should have felt pride, he was where he wanted to be, and he had what he wanted, but it wasn't enough. He was alone, ignored by his brother, and untrusted by the others. He knew what would happen once he had stepped out of Alfred's house demanding the world acknowledge him as Fastus, pride, and Matthew thought that what he had would be enough. It wasn't. He found himself growing jealous of the others, of their friendships and what they possessed. He found himself envious of Romulus and the lovers he drew in, of Francis and his things, and of Arthur's ability to strike fear in all. It wasn't fair, all he had was pride, and it wasn't good enough for him.

If he couldn't have it, neither should they.


	3. Avaritia

Francis didn't believe he was a greedy person, despite his title of Avaritia; he simply just loved beautiful things. He loved waking up to silk sheets, golden lights, and the designs of an ornate room around him. Francis loved strolling his house and admiring the gold-framed paintings, beautiful decorations laid on any available space, and eating the best foods on silver platters. He was satisfied with it all; at least he tried to be. 

Sometimes it was hard; he'd see something and wanted it. Sometimes he pushed it to the back of his mind, but many times it would sit there in his mind until he gave in and bought it. He had a lot, and sometimes he wanted more, but he wasn't greedy.

No, he had already learned his lesson in greed, and he wasn't eager to repeat it. 

Being a god meant listening when humans prayed and helping them when he could. Francis enjoyed listening to the prayers and bringing people to his house. What was a beautiful home for if not to be shown to the world? He tended to a helpful god, and he took pride in helping others. 

Of course, it wasn't the easiest thing to bring in mortals when they had such a big appetite for more. Francis was smart; he knew about thieves, being the patron god of thieves. He sometimes caught a human hiding a silver candlestick or golden statue on their way home. 

It was such the case now. Francis had caught a boy, red-handedly, trying to stuff a golden figurine of a frog into one of his pockets. Francis ignored the wound to his pride, and frogs were his symbol after all, and instead took the boy and sat him down. He would not punish the boy; he was not Wrath after all, but instead, he would teach a lesson more valuable than gold could ever be. It was not what you owned, but who you were that made you wealthy. 

Francis started with a question to the boy, "why did you steal? You could have asked, and perhaps I would have given you something." 

The boy stared at the ground in guilt. "It is because you have so much, and I don't. You must be the richest man with rooms full of gold and silver, and I didn't think you would miss one statue."

Francis laughed softly and set the frog statue down on the table between them. "Yes, I do have a lot. I have rooms that exist only to hold the things I have, but I am not the richest man. The richest man may not have a lot, but he is satisfied with what he has, and that makes him better than you and me. We are both prisoners to greed, to avaritia, and he is not. While we want more, he is content. If you want to be rich, be that man."

The boy's frown deepened, and he stared at Francis in confusion. "I don't understand."

Francis sighed softly; he took the boy's hand and led him to the back of his house. From there, he said, "it is a lesson you will one day learn. For now, because you need it, you may choose one thing to bring home with you. Once you pass it, you cannot come back to it. I will walk behind you; the halls are free to you to roam." 

The boy hesitantly started walking down the halls, his mind full of what he could bring home to his family. He could imagine bringing home a giant gold statue to his family or perhaps a silver candlestick. He didn't know what he would choose, but he knew it had to be good.

As he walked down the halls of Francis's home, the boy came across a giant golden plate. He stared at it and knew that it would be the right choice, but he wondered if there was something bigger down the hall. He gave the plate one last look and headed down the hall. Francis watched silently behind him.

Once again, the boy came across a big treasure. This time an ornate silver mirror that would fetch a lot of money if sold. The boy studied it and knew that it would also be a good choice. His family would be happy if he came home with it. Once again, he wondered if there was something bigger and better down the hall just waiting for him, so he pushed past it and headed towards the door. Once again, Francis watched quietly. 

Finally, as the boy walked down the hall, he reached the door. He was emptyhanded. Francis finally spoke. "I see you are emptyhanded. Did you not remember what I promised you?"

"I do remember what you promised, Avaritia. As I walked down that hall, I could not choose because I thought that there was something bigger and better closer to the door. When I reached the door, I could not find anything like there was back then. I regretted my choice because I wanted something bigger I lost my chance."

Francis's expression softened. "That, my dear boy, is greed. We often miss chances for good things because we want something bigger and better. We are greedy. When we learn to accept what we have, we get the best out of life, and we are happy."

The boy nodded in agreement, finally understanding what Francis had been trying to teach him. He felt guilty, and with tears in his eyes, he asked for forgiveness. 

Francis took the golden frog figurine and kneeled in front of the boy. "Do not be sad, we all make mistakes, and you did not know better. You have learned now, do not make the same mistake." He held out the statue to the boy and wiped at his tears. 'Here, I have plenty, and I did promise that you would leave with something. Keep this lesson close to you and remember that the happiest and richest men are those who are satisfied with that they have." 


	4. Gula

Yao was wise. At least, that was what he figured after the centuries of living. He had learned his lessons, and despite being the God of Gluttony, Gula as his title proclaimed, he dedicated his time to teaching others and reminding himself. He prided himself on the fact that, like many of the gods, they seemed to show little room for repeated mistakes. Humans never seemed to learn, he supposed it was because they were so closedminded, but he found joy in helping them learn wisdom. After all, many things could be solved if humans learned how to manage their gluttony, greed, and other sins that drove them on. They would be happier, and so would the gods.

It was The Day Of Gula, a day to celebrate the God of Gluttony and his blessings. To many people, as Yao wished, this meant eating little and giving the extra food to those who needed it. What better way to celebrate a god by living by the words he so often spoke. It was the way most god days were observed. People relearned that they had to make better choices to be happy and that the gods wished to correct their paths for their own good. Of course, it was a bit hard when some of the gods needed to learn their lessons first. Yao knew it would come in time and experience and so he paid little mind to it.

As usual, many people would invite Yao to spend the evening meal with them in their house. Yao always accepted one invitation and joined them for the small dinner of pig and what else they had to offer. This year, he accepted the invitation of a newly coronated king. What better way to make sure the king was fit to lead his people than to see how he treated The Day of Gula. 

With that in mind, Yao chose his best orange changshan and headed to the castle. A few servants politely greeted him, and as they led him down to the dining hall, they asked for his blessing, whispering about a famine through the kingdom. Yao promised to help, and they left him alone as he stepped in front of the giant dark oak doors. If this kingdom were in famine, that would mean there may not be as grand, even if his feasts were not very grand in the first place, as usual. He promised to himself that he would not judge and instead bless the kingdom to fight the famine. It would not do well if the country suffered.

Yao glanced into a window nearby to make sure he was presentable before pushing open the doors and stepping into the brightly lit room. The dining hall was spacious, but the tables had been pushed to the side except for one. That table was ladened with plates of delicious food; a pig, chicken, rice, and many desserts. For a moment, Yao stared transfixed before he composed himself. He had learned his lesson, even when he was offered many foods he would decline. Overindulgence would lead him back into his old habits, and a god that did not listen to his own rules set a terrible example. He would not be that god, but instead, he would teach the king a lesson. His people were starving, and he had a table full of unnecessary food that he could use to help his people. It disrespected his day, Yao's name, but he reminded himself that humans did not always see the big picture. There was no need to be angry if one could teach through patience and example. 

Yao was greeted by the king and his wife before the small group ate. The food was good, Yao was thankful for that at least, and after a small serving of pig and salad, he excused himself from eating. The king laughed it off and accepted the invitation to join Yao's table at dinner the next day. Yao would teach him the importance of taking what you needed and sharing what was left. It was through limiting one's self that you grew to appreciate what you had. 

The next night, Yao led the king and his wife to his own house. The house, like many things Yao had, was small. Perhaps it was foolish for a god, but Yao liked to limit himself; it allowed him to focus on other things. They took a seat at his table, and Yao offered them each a plate of food. They ate silently and awkwardly, and Yao couldn't help but notice the questioning aura around the king. 

Finally, after their plates were cleared, the young king asked. "You are a god, are you not? Why do you eat and live like you are a peasant? I gave you a feast, and yet you gave us a plate." 

Yao looked up from clearing the table. He smiled softly and sat back down. "It is because I have learned what gluttony brings. Food and drink and many other things are good, and you should enjoy them, but you shouldn't let the want for more control you. It distracts you from what matters most. For you, it distracts you from your people and what they need. They are starving, and yet you gave me a feast that I could and would not eat. For me, it distracted me from teaching others the wisdom needed to be shared. All gods learn from their names to teach the lessons they learned. I have made my mistakes, and you have to, but I have learned from them. It is time you did too." 

The king was silent. It was true he appreciated Yao's small homemade feast compared to the giant one from the day before. It was true that his people were suffering and shared while he did not. Overindulgence led to greed and envy, he wanted to be a good king, and he had already failed so far. If he limited what he wanted and gave it to the kingdom, perhaps he could save many lives, and it would make him a better king. He left with guilt and a promise to do better. 

Yao watched him leave. There would always be more people, but Yao decided that overindulging in helping others was probably a good thing. 


	5. Luxuria

Romulus had always been different. He had been mortal from the start, and because he lusted for power, he had gained it. He had worked hard for his godly title, Luxuria, and because of his hard work, he had gotten there. He had pushed the bounds of what was possible and cut down anything stopping him from his goal; his endgame. Maybe that was why he never learned that there had to be a line. That his lust had to be stated somehow and that he needed to accept what he had to quench his appetite for more. 

It was how he came from a starving young farmer boy to offering the head of the feared Hyrpai on the steps of the GodMother's temple in Emor. It was how he managed to coax a young princess to marry him before she was abandoned on a trip to the Isles of Wrights. So that he could have a royal title to enter the hidden city of Emor, it was how he managed to win over the hearts of the other gods so that the GodMother would challenge him for godhood. And it was how he obtained that godhood and the title of the God of Lust. 

Lust for something was a powerful force, and Romulus had used it to dig his way up and dig himself into a hole that would one day bury him.

Romulus could remember the ceremony in which the GodMother had made him a god. He had been draped in blue velvet and silk and decorated with gold. It had been everything he wanted, and once the GodMother had blessed him with the powers of Lust. He had cut his hand open to show the golden ichor that was now running through his veins; he had been satisfied. He had gotten the power he deserved, the power that he lusted for, the power that he had screamed, and kicked and fought for until it was given to him. 

He could remember at the end of the ceremony as the gods invited him into their world that the GodMother had grabbed his hand and told him to wait. Once the room was empty, she gave him a grim smile and spoke. "I want all to succeed young Luxuria, like you, but there is a difference between working after something and lusting after something. You have grudgingly earned your spot here, and I won't take that away because of that, but you will need to learn that lusting after something is not wise. You will paint yourself into the bad guy, and one day your lust will prevent you from getting what you desire." Romulus had scoffed off her words and assured her that he could handle his lust and not to worry. He had what he wanted, and he was happy.

Of course, his lust had never stopped. It only changed and grew after he became a god. It went from power, to followers, to more riches and things, many kinds of lovers. 

At the moment, he wanted Yao. The God of Gluttony, Gula, was beautiful, and wise, and everything Romulus lusted after. He wanted wisdom like Yao, he wanted the exotic beauty like Yao, and he wanted Yao. After figuring out these feelings, and after a long time thinking over how he was going to win the other god over, Romulus finally began his wooing attempts. Of course, things went wrong immediately. Usual tricks that Romulus used didn't work, and he had to start thinking of other ways, more creative ideas, to try. Each new attempt failed, and Romulus struggled to figure out why. Nothing had ever been denied from him. Sure it took time to get things, but never this long. Perhaps Yao was just too wise for him. 

So, in an uncharacteristically sign of humility, he asked Yao. "Why is it that you won't let me have you?" He whispered, holding out orange flowers as a peace offering. 

Yao stared at him for a long moment. before shaking his head and replying in a soft voice. "It is because I of your lust. It had taken hold of your heart, and you have yet to weed it out. It eats away at everything that makes you good, and I do not wish for that to corrupt me. I have seen what happens when your lust is satisfied, you cut down people in your way, and once you've filled your appetite with me, you will do the same. I do not wish to be like Princess Helen, thrown away when she was no longer useful. You care only for yourself, Luxuria, and that makes you dangerous."

Yao quickly left, and Romulus stared after him. His lust had driven Yao away, and there was nothing he could do now. His drive and desire had finally caught up to him. Briefly, he recalled the conversation between the GodMother and him at the ceremony. She had promised, unless he learned to control his lust and wants, that it would lead him to a time where he could not get what he wanted. She had been right all along, he had painted himself as a villain, and he had lost Yao before he could even try to get him. 

Romulus wondered if it was too late to ask how to change. It had already been centuries since he had been made a god. He had cheated, killed, used, and lied his way to where he was, and in doing so, he had finally realized the hole he had dug for himself. His lusts and desires had controlled him, and now he was stuck in a hole with no apparent way out. 

Filled with despair, Romulus fell to his knees. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to redeem himself, but he had no clue how. He couldn't force Yao to think differently about him; he would have to prove that he could change. He would have to learn how to control his lust. He would have to be a new person. 

"I see you have finally learned the ways of your faults, Luxuria." The GodMother stood above him, a hand extended. "It is never too late for you to change."


	6. Ira

Arthur had always been the villain. It couldn't be helped. He had such a quick temper, and the power his anger carried was limitless. He used to enjoy it, the power, the fear, the ability to be able to take his frustrations out without consequence because he was Wrath, Ira. People stopped questioning him because they feared him, Arthur had his power, and he carried it with an iron fist. 

Perhaps he could blame his childhood. He had been shamed, shunned, because he was an unwanted child of the GodMother. A child she bore out of mistake. He wasn't even truly a god in the first place, rather a demigod that the GodMother had chosen to make a god because he had nowhere else to go. She gave him the name Ira and made him the God of Wrath. It fit him, he used anger and fear to keep everyone away from him, and he was happy with that. His anger hid his doubt that no one would ever accept him. His mother didn't want him, and so why would anyone else?

He made himself a sanctuary in a cave with a group of bears and claimed the animal his own. Arthur learned that anger and wrath kept people away from him and that when he was alone, he did not have to worry about other's opinions of him. He did not have to hear their taunts, their whispers of how he could change, and he didn't have to listen to their disappointment. All he had was his own thoughts, and he was happy with that. 

At least for a while. 

Arthur grew lonely, he didn't want to spend time alone with a few bears for company. So he tried to be friends with the others. He held his tongue and listened silently until they begrudgingly stopped sending him away. 

For a while, he somehow coexisted with the other gods. They knew he existed, and they tolerated him, and in return, he did the same. He held his tongue and fists, and they held theirs. Of course, it wasn't always that simple. They fought still, mainly he and Francis, and they all knew there would never be true peace between them. Not until they all learned to control their faults and learned to accept them for who they were and that they could change. And that meant Arthur needed to learn how to control his anger; he needed to figure out how to morph himself into something more likable. Of course, it wasn't that easy. He didn't exactly have anyone to turn to about it. He wasn't exactly used to being that vulnerable in someone else's presence. 

Arthur tried to do it himself. He traveled the human world himself, hidden under a red cloak and disguised as a mortal. But town after town and book after book left him with no answers. He prayed to gods and received no response and daringly entered the city of Erom to ask his own mother, but she told him to change he had to do it himself. It was his lesson to learn. He asked oracles, and they gave him weak advice to follow his heart. Arthur only forced a laugh and told them he had been born without one; he was a spirit of wrath after all. 

And so his quest to change himself stumbled to a halt. It seemed the world was against him and that no one wanted him to change. Arthur supposed it was because they always needed a villain, and he played the role perfectly. Or perhaps it was because no one took his quest, his plead, to change seriously. Change like that seemed impossible to them. Arthur could, and would, never change. So he gave up, threw out the books he collected, and holed himself up in his cave. He had tried, and it wasn't enough. 

The solution came from Matthew, Invidia. Matthew had come seeking peace, admitting in a meek voice that he could see Arthur struggle to correct his wrongs and do the right thing. He offered help in exchange for Arthur's friendship and Arthur, holding back the defensive insults that would keep Matthew away, agreed.

Somehow, they made it work. Arthur learned how to hide his wrath around Matthew; it wasn't exactly hard after accepting Matthew was there to help him. Matthew coaxed him to open up; to be more than the vengeful God of Wrath. He found underneath that there was a side of Arthur, a softer side that remained well hidden, that had never had the chance to grow. It was through Matthew that Arthur finally was able to learn and to change.

It was through Matthew he learned to love someone slowly. It was because of him that Arthur fell in love. Matthew had his own faults, and Arthur always had his, but it worked between them. Matthew had something that no one else had, and Arthur had someone who believed in him. They were happy, and no one questioned it. 

"Do you think I've changed enough?" Arthur asked, watching the sleuth of bears that protected the cave he had made into his home. Matthew laid next to him, his chair shining in the sunlight. "I'm scared when I go back; they won't see me like how you see me. They only know me as the vengeful demigod who became a god because I would have died. I'm sure they wish I could have died instead of the Godmother taking pity on me." 

"They're stubborn, Arthur, but they have their faults. If they can change, you can too. Look at Alfred; he's changed after the GodMother sent him to down and made him earn his pride back. I'm sure it will take time, but you proved to me that you have changed and if they can't see that, they don't matter. You have me, and that's what matters. It's time you gave them a chance to change, and they give you the same chance."


	7. Acedia

"I want to know how to be a better painter. I have seen your works, and the world loves them. I want to paint like you, Acedia. What must I do?" 

Feliciano pursed his lips and studied the young painter as she waited for his reply. Her paintings were good, but like many artists, including the god himself, she wanted to grow as an artist.

Feliciano had been painting his own life, all the centuries of it. After years of studying and practicing, he had mastered it himself. But it took time to master an ability; it took time to practice over and over until you got it right. There were only a few skills that you could learn overnight. Painting, like many other talents, took years to master it truly.

The girl seemed to have a grasp on it, and if she practiced, Feliciano could see her going places with her art. 

"Well..." He started, " perfecting a skill doesn't happen over time. You are born with many talents that are yours to grow and care for throughout your life. If you do not devote time to practicing it, you will get nowhere. You will find yourself stuck in a cycle of never improving." 

Yeah, that sounded right. Feliciano had started the same way. As a young god, a child, he had discovered that he could paint well. The GodMother urged him to grow out that talent, but Feliciano did not want to. The gods around him had other gifts, they could fight, and they could rally soldiers. They did not paint; they left that to the humans. They led the humans in their desires and talents and left their own abilities to rot. Feliciano left his unwanted skills behind and struggled through training. He knew to be the best god he could be; he would have to make sacrifices. 

Painting wasn't brought up for a few more centuries. Sure, Feliciano admire art, but he kept a sword in his hand instead of a paintbrush and found places to practice fighting rather than to paint. It wasn't until Romulus became a god that Feliciano had seen another god paint. He began slowly sneaking into Romulus's house to watch him and wonder how he dared to paint when it was something worthless to the other gods. 

It had gone well until Romulus had caught him. Feliciano had stammered out an explanation about how he had used to paint before he found it useless. Romulus had laughed and leaned over to whisper. 

"It doesn't matter what the others think. It's not about what they want from you; it's about what you want from you." He patted the seat next to him and handed Feliciano a paintbrush. "Do what you want, and don't let anyone stop you. It's how I got here. I ignored what others told me not to do, and here I am, a god now. " 

With those words imprinted on his heart and the encouragement from Romulus, Feliciano began to paint again. It didn't matter if he wasn't good with a sword; it mattered that he was good at what talents he had been given. If he were meant to hold a paintbrush, he would.

"I know that, but it takes so long to improve! There has to be a way that I can improve overnight! There has to be a potion or spell or trick!" The girl cried, glancing down at the painting Feliciano was working on, Feliciano just laughed.

"I wish I could tell you that there is some secret trick to being a painter overnight, bella, but there isn't." Feliciano paused in his work and held out the painting. 

It was a still-life of a flower growing in a pot. 

"Talents are kind of like plants." He started, "perhaps painting is a Rose and sword fighting is a Lilac. When we are born, we are given gifts; it is like these flowers are born with us. They start as seeds, invisible and tiny, until we start growing. Perhaps as a child, you drew your first picture? The seed sprouted then. As you grew and attracted more, the seed became a tiny plant. If you keep drawing and painting, the plant begins to grow big enough to bloom. It takes years to produce a talent, just like it takes time for a flower to bloom. "

"I kind of get that, but what happens if you stop drawing? What if you lose that talent?"

Feliciano paused, "well, I suppose if you stop watering a plant, it will die. It won't have the things it needs to live, and it will wither away and disappear as if you no longer have that talent. That is why you always need to keep trying. If you do, your talent and the plant will grow and produce something magnificent. If you don't, both will die, and you could regret that very much."

The girl nodded in understanding. "I see, keep trying, and you will one day be good. It takes time to master something. If not, you could lose it." 

"Exactly, not using a talent can lead to it being gone forever. Now you know the secret of being a good painter." 

Feliciano watched the girl scamper off, and he looked down at his own painting. He had learned that same lesson from Romulus, who had reminded him that his talents, even if they weren't the same as everyone else, were still as important. Even if we wasn't commanding armies like Alfred or cooking up beautiful meals like Yao or Francis, his skills mattered. 

He had learned his lesson of being a sloth. Being a sloth didn't mean not doing anything; it meant not using your talents and doing the things you needed to do. Each person had different abilities, and it would be a wast if everyone tried to have the same skills. 

Being different made the world a better place, full of unique ideas and people. Being different was okay, and it was what made the world a place of wonder. 


End file.
